


(You feel like) Redemption

by WhereDoesTheTimeGo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Room, Slow Burn, of sorts, thats why i rated M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereDoesTheTimeGo/pseuds/WhereDoesTheTimeGo
Summary: Harry had a new resolve; to not instantly forgive Malfoy for any of his actions. Not his bullying, or pestering, not even his war crimes, no matter how many times he cuddled Harry in his sleep. Merlin, could they even do that again? How would he even ask? 'Malfoy, I know we're supposed to be hexing each other to death, but do you mind if we cuddle instead?'Or: Harry has nightmares, Draco can't sleep. What happens when they share a room? Spoiler alert: Late night crying, cuddling, and overall pining.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 11
Kudos: 73





	1. Living Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. First of all, hello and welcome.
> 
> This is going to be a long ride, as I plan on this story having at least fifteen chapters. I was originally going to post it as a long one-shot when finished, but it has been a WIP for too long, marinating in my google docs, so I decided to split it into chapters and just post it.
> 
> Everything started as an obsession with this pairing, a very self-indulgent idea, and a common trope (sharing a room) but it evolved into the longest thing I've ever written. It became a bit angstier, and a lot more in-depth. Kind of like a character study, as well as a slow-burn, teen, falling-in-like/love, type of thing. I think the most prominent of all tags is hurt/comfort. I just needed my boys to heal a little. But there's still gonna be a lot of pining and unresolved sexual tension. Any tags I missed will be added further on.
> 
> I'm a perfectionist, and even though this is unbeta'd, I've re-read this thing so many times I might as well know it by heart. Even though I've studied english for a while now, I'm still not a native speaker, so if you find any mistakes please let me know in the comments and I'll gladly correct them.
> 
> I'm still finishing/revising this fic, so I'll be posting when I can. Maybe the updates won't be too often, but I hope to finish it and post everything before this year ends.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Nightmare (drowning, claustrophobia), Panic attack.
> 
> If you feel like I should add any tags or warnings please tell me!
> 
> So, without much futher ado, enjoy! :)

Harry was walking through the forest, hearing his own footsteps; dry leaves beneath his feet nearly as loud as his raging heart.

Death was imminent.

The stone that danced between his fingers felt cold and untouched, no matter how much he tried to warm it.

When they started showing up, his father was the first one. He looked as young as Harry felt, but still older than life itself. A glowing blue light surrounded his body, and even though he looked like a ghost, when James touched his shoulder, Harry felt the coldness of his fingers through his shirt.

"Death feels good," he said. "You should die Harry, you'll like it."

Sirius, popping besides him, flashed a wicked smile.

"You're just a pig for the slaughterhouse."

Harry tried turning around but the apparitions had trapped him, forming a circle around him.

"You let us die, Harry." Remus said, tears flooding his eyes.

Tonks held her husband's hand with raging eyes and blue fire in her hair. "Teddy's gonna be an orphan, you know what that’s like! How could you let it happen?"

Harry's mother, besides him, smiled, but said nothing. She looked disappointed and it threw daggers into his heart. He tried screaming but the knot in his throat made sure nothing came out.

Mad Eye Moody then clapped his back with such strength, Harry almost fell to the ground.

"Death is just around the corner, lad. Beware!"

Fred Weasley only winked, but it was loud enough.

The screaming intensified up to the point where he had to cover his ears and let himself fall to his knees. The ghosts of his friends and family were relentless; shouting curses, crying, and blaming Harry in some kind of violent loop. He came to think that maybe, in order for them to forgive him, he ought to take their advice and continue walking to his death.

All at once, however, Ron and Hermione placed their hands on each of his shoulders. He sighed through his tears, but the feeling of relief was short-lived. His friend's hands felt cold, that same luminous blue aura surrounding their bodies.

He gasped, desperate for air, but was now drowning. Trees transformed into gigantic seaweed and the air filled with water so dark he thought he'd never see again. His friends were gone. Two red eyes he recognized as both form the giant squid and Voldemort blinked in the dark.

The scenery shifted but he was still unable to breathe. Muddy water filled the small room beneath the stairs, and he almost didn't fit. Something stomped the roof, trails of dirt descending into the water, but he knew this time it wasn't Dudley.

Not breathing wasn't the main issue anymore. Right now, all he wanted was to get out of that cupboard before that thing above got him. Being locked beneath the stairs made him feel defenseless, and he didn't have his wand, not even Malfoy's. The walls began closing in on him and the pressing force of claustrophobia crushed within his chest, hurting and squeezing his insides.

As a breath being let in, there was a flash of green light illuminating his vision, like a cursed lighting, that woke him up.

He gasped as if having spent the last few hours underwater. Filled with sweat, the back of his head felt annoyingly damp. He took another breath and noticed his hands shaking and his throat sore. 

Sitting up in bed, he remembered he was alone. When McGonagall offered him a Hogwarts bedroom all to himself in the eight year's tower, Harry had thought it a great idea. He was in desperate need for some privacy after the war speeches, press filled funerals and autograph signings had no end in sight. Yet right now, in the dead of night, with his teeth hurting from clenching his jaw, and his breath far from calming down, he regretted his decision.

He needed someone with him, someone to talk to about his dreams. Ron, or Hermione.

He needed to see them.

Anxious determination flooded his brain as he grabbed his glasses and wand. A few doors apart was Ron and Seamus' bedroom. He didn’t hesitate as he stood up, on his still shaky legs, to reach for the door. The coldness of the doorknob made him flinch and he stilled to catch his breath. This was normal. He just needed to calm down, breathe, and the pain in his chest would recede.

Seconds passed, or maybe minutes, as he tried to stop shaking and will down the pressure inside his ribs. He needed to see someone, but he just couldn’t bring himself to move, and risk the ache increasing. Also, appearing in Ron’s room shaking like this might worry his friend to death. _Death_. Ron and Hermione had died, in his dream. He inhaled and his heart complained with another wave of nauseating pain.

Sniffling, he wiped at his face with the edge of his sleeve. He could do this. The hallway would be deserted, and he could walk a few steps into Ron’s room. Everything would be fine when he saw his friend alive and breathing. Harry could count on Ron to calm him down.

But as Murphy's law dictated, if something could go wrong, it had to. The hallway wasn’t deserted. When he pulled the door open to step outside, he nearly tripped sideways as someone bumped into him.

Harry had an honest apology on the tip of his tongue, but the sight made him bite it instead. His suspicions that the universe hated him were then confirmed with absolute certainty. It had to be either that, or an overpowered entity was personally targeting him.

“Watch out...” Draco Malfoy said, his usual defensive intonation dying out by the end of the second word as he too was rendered speechless.

Harry stood still, as if by not moving, Malfoy would unsee him. Sharing a tower with other houses had to be the worst part of this eight year ordeal. He’d take any type of nightmare instead of this. 

Malfoy proceeded to stare at him, and his radgetty appearance, as if he were watching a ghost. It became clear that Harry wasn’t invisible. Maybe he could obliviate Malfoy, and make him forget this ever happened? To Harry's missfortune, he was awful with that spell, and would most likely fuck Malfoy’s memory up.

Instead he fidgeted, uncomfortable, as Malfoy seemed to not be able to take his eyes off him. Draco then breathed in, as if preparing to speak, and Harry had to actively refrain from cringing. He expected any type of teasing.

 _'What’s got you looking so awful, Potter? Your mommy put you in time out? Oh, I forgot...!_ ' But Mafoy’s mouth closed back up. The lack of teasing made the situation worsen, given that was possible at this point. It made Harry feel pitied. Any ‘dead parents’ dark joke would have been better than the shocked silence Draco Malfoy was exhibiting.

As Harry tried and failed to preserve his dignity and stop his trembling; clearing his face of any tears, he realized something. They were standing, staring at each other, in the corridor, at two in the morning. _Malfoy_ and him. He needed to move.

“Uh, sorry.” he muttered, grimacing to himself when he turned to shut his bedroom’s door. That had sounded pathetic. He didn’t go back to looking at Malfoy as he walked the few steps to Ron’s bedroom, but could still feel the other boy’s stare on the back of his neck, dumbfounded.

Harry didn't bother knocking, and stepped inside his friend’s room.

He conjured a quick _lumos_ and sighed in both amusement and bone-deep relief. One of the beds was empty, while the other had two heads popping out of the covers. As awkward as this could be, it was evidently better than staying out in the corridor with Malfoy. 

The pain in his chest finally withered out. He almost didn't wake his friends up and slipped into Seamus' empty bed.

The remembrances of his dream shook the idea out of him.

His hands were still trembling when he reached to shake Hermione awake.

"Guys" he spoke.

She was the first to respond. Quick as always, she sat up, and heaven thanks, she had a t-shirt on.

"Harry?" she said, sleepiness replaced by worrisome in no time.

Ron followed suit.

"What?" he mumbled, trying to hold Hermione tighter. When opening his eyes, however, he caught Harry's look and blushed, sitting up too. "Mate, what's wrong?"

Harry guessed this was how small kids felt when waking up their parents to tell them they'd had a nightmare.

"I'm sorry to wake you guys up, I didn't want to..."

"Harry, it's fine, are you ok?" Hermione asked again.

He sighed.

"Yes, I'm... I don't know. I had a nightmare."

They shared a knowing look.

"About... You-know-who?" Ron said after a pause, voicing Harry's deepest concerns with a simple question.

Voldemort had died. They had killed him off completely this time, Harry was sure of it. Nevertheless, the fact that he still had nightmares about that walk through the Forbidden forest, or the green light he kept seeing at the end of every dream, scared him more than he was willing to admit. He thought that when the horrocrux inside him was destroyed, the dreams would stop. But they kept going, shifting, stronger and scarier, like a mixture of traumas and fears made especially for him, and it terrified him to no end.

"Not... not exactly." Harry said, sitting in Seamus' bed and rubbing his hands on his knees to try and calm them down. "I was walking through the... the forest, you know."

They both nodded through the story, even though he left some details out, like seeing Fred amongst the dead people. He hesitated to tell the part of the dream where he saw them, but Hermione pressed, so he complied.

"And then, well, then I saw you two." he looked into his friends eyes and noticed Ron swallowing. "I think... I'm not sure, but I think you guys were dead."

There it was. He felt tears pool in his eyes before he could do anything to stop them.

Hermione let out a long exhale.

"Oh, Harry, come here" she said, arms open, offering a hug.

Harry didn't care whether it was awkward, or they were a couple and he was the third wheel, and he knew his friends wouldn't care either. So he sat in their bed, and let Hermione hold him. Ron contributed by rubbing his back and sighing into his hair. Harry might have cried a little more.

"We're here, Harry, you know." Hermione said once they parted. Harry sniffed and she conjured a tissue for him. "We're here and it's all over."

"Yeah, mate. You won't get rid of us that easy." Ron added and they all chuckled.

He ended up sleeping in the empty bed, and then he didn't dream.

——

Draco stormed into his bedroom and leaned against the closed door. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to assess the situation. Sleep was out of the question now, he was too worked up for that.

What had he just witnessed? He hadn’t fucking signed up for this.

Walking the few steps into his en-suite bathroom, he stared at himself in the mirror. Harry Potter, absolutely drenched in sweat, and pale as a corpse, had stepped out of his room, trembling despite the warm night.

He had also... apologized? For bumping into him? Clearly something was off here, never in his right mind would Harry Potter, _saviour extraordinaire_ , apologize for something as trivial as that. He would, instead, walk into him on purpose and then say something resembling a clever comment, which made his friends laugh. So, yes. Something was very wrong here.

Resting his hands on the sink, Draco sighed and let his head fall forwards. He had been in the process of leaving his potions book aside and getting some sleep —something he rather lacked nowadays— but Potter, as he often did, had ruined it all. Why had he looked so… weak? Why did he leave his room in the middle of the night looking _scared_?

Draco had hated it, seeing the face of the rebellion, the actual victor of this goddamned war, so absolutely miserable; as if he were suffering. Wasn’t he supposed to be celebrating with his Gryffindor friends? Draco would have thought they would be throwing parties in their bedrooms at night, not fucking crying over some nightmare like a five year old.

Had that been a nightmare? Maybe Potter was just grieving, crying himself to sleep at night after all the people he had lost. Yet it seemed like something else, somehow. Potter had looked tired and sad, yes, but also terrified.

Damnit, why did Draco even care so much? He had problems of his own. His father was incarcerated. His mother, in house arrest, had become so obsessed with cleaning the Manor's halls (in the muggle way) that she often injured her fingers and burned off skin. He had his own anxiety and fears and regrets to overcome, so why, then, obsess over Potter's? 

Old habits die hard. He scoffed to himself. Maybe that's what this all meant, just the ghost of an old rivalry trying to reach for the surface. 

Or maybe it was something else. If it were just a ghost, then it wouldn't have burned in his stomach with such intensity. Some kind of anger flamed inside him, because Potter was supposed to be the one _constant_ in his life; the black to his white. But seeing him suffer like that changed things, the war had changed things. And now all he was able to see were greys.

When Draco got accepted back into Hogwarts, he had started ignoring Harry Potter. Since the beginning of the year, a few weeks ago, when they first exchanged looks, Draco had made it his mission to avoid him. It felt wrong to even address him, or any of his friends, after a summer filled with bleak funerals, and media coverage.

Even after the trial, in which Potter unexpectedly defended him, even after he was given his wand back, it felt wrong. Everything. Hogwarts, it felt tainted, just as his home had been painted black when you-know-who walked its halls, Hogwarts had been tainted with blood.

He hated it here, and hated everything that had happened. But the past was over and done with, and now the only thing he owned were his regrets.

In a desperate attempt of control over the guilt he felt, he had apologized to a few people. To Teddy Lupin, who was related to him by blood, even if the baby couldn't understand his tears. To Luna Lovegood, for all she had been put through at his family home. Still, he doubted he could ever apologize to Potter; Draco could barely look him in the eye.

He splashed his face with cold water and tried to breathe. Instead, he could only picture Harry Potter's pained expression, and still wet tears rolling down his cheeks. His disfigured face, as he was forced to kneel in front of him at the Manor.

Breathing was now a lost cause. He was drowning; regret and guilt, anger and fear all swarming around in his head.

Closing his eyes, he pictured his father, wasting away in an Azkaban cell, and the only thing he could think was that he deserved it. He had behaved like a coward, following you-know-who's every command like a scared puppy, and earning the Malfoy's bloodline (and most importantly, his mother) nothing but shame and disgrace.

But was he talking about his father any more than he was talking about himself?

He breathed in and out quickly as the tears finally came.

Draco deserved this too; the shame, the public rejection. But Potter? As much as the revelation pained him, it was clear that Potter didn't deserve any of this. If even the boy-who-lived ended up crying himself to sleep, then there were no winners to this war.

His pathetic reflection looked back at him, and he swallowed. Tear filled cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Pale and with big bags under his eyes. He looked like a ghost and kind of felt like one; dizzy and detached. The only thing that reminded him he had a body was the pain, in his throat, in his arms and back, which were going numb from the prolonged position.

He ended up sitting on his bed, trying to distract himself by studying, until the sun illuminated his room and he had to go down and get some breakfast.


	2. Silver Tabby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! :)
> 
> It's another update, sooner than I expected, but still here. Thank you so much to the people who already left kudos and comments, I love this story but I'm not sure how to prevent it from flopping lol, I'm horrible at PR. I'm just gonna do me and keep posting, and hopefully you all get to love it too!
> 
> No chapter warnings.

Harry decided that night in Ron’s room that he was going to ask McGonagall for a different room arrangement, and refused when Hermione offered to come with him.

The fact that he almost always felt either lonely, scared or tired, didn't mean he was impaired, and couldn't do things by himself. It took him a few days, yes, but when he gained a bit of courage, he walked up to the gargoyle, muttering "silver tabby" to step into the Headmistress' office.

He knocked twice, and when invited in, stopped in his tracks.

Pansy Parkinson sat in a chair in front of McGonagall's desk. Upon seeing Harry, she adopted that same awful, embarrassed grimace she did every time they caught each other's looks, as if she had spoken up about giving Harry in to Voldemort only yesterday.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, ignoring her look. "I can come back another time."

McGonagall stopped him.

"Wait, Potter, I believe you could be of assistance." She said, commanding, more than offering him, to sit.

He held his breath as he noticed Pansy frown, and sat beside her.

"You see, Ms. Parkinson here was voicing to me her concerns about Draco Malfoy's wellbeing, as she believes he isn't sleeping well."

Harry found himself frowning as well. He had, of course, noticed the heavy black shadows under Malfoy's eyes, and the fact that he looked more like a ghost than he had ever. Excluding maybe their sixth year, Harry hadn't seen Malfoy's skin so pale before. Yet during sixth year Malfoy was unstable, anxious, looking back over his shoulder with worry; in a state of constant and almost unmasked stress.

This year it was different. Malfoy's eyes were so devoid of energy that he almost didn't look like himself at all. He even lacked the sneer and pride that were trademark Malfoy at this point.

On top of that, Harry wasn't surprised to learn Malfoy had trouble sleeping. Not only did he look empty, dragging his feet when he walked and not bothering to talk to anyone outside his small group of Slytherin friends, but also he looked exhausted.

Suffering as Malfoy may be, what could Harry even do to help him? He was well aware of his own saviour complex, one known to grow when it came to Draco Malfoy in particular, but in this matter he had to accept that intervening would be overstepping boundaries.

Parkinson brought him out of his thoughts. She seemed to read Harry's mind as she spoke, voice harsh and a bit defensive.

"But what does Potter have to do with this?" She heard the bite in her own voice and rephrased. "I mean... not to be rude, but I don't understand how he could possibly help Draco with..."

McGonagall noded.

"I believe, Potter, that you, Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood are the only eight year students that sleep in individual bedrooms on the previous astronomy tower." She paused, and as none of them seemed to catch up, continued. "And I think it might be suitable for you and Malfoy to share one bedroom. As I heard from Hermione Granger, you were also having some trouble sleeping. And that is why you came, is it not? To ask for a room re-arrangement?"

Pansy's mouth fell open and Harry felt faint. Yes, he was here to speak about having someone else installed in his bedroom, so he wouldn't be alone. But he had hoped that person to be someone like Neville, or Ron, even though he would most likely run out in the middle of the night to get in bed with Hermione. And damned her, by the way, for speaking to McGonagall before he even could, and get him in this situation.

"I... yes, but, Prof- I mean, Headmistress, I don't understand…”

When McGonagall spoke, she seemed tired.

"Look, Potter, I am aware of the ongoing quarrels between you and Draco Malfoy throughout the years. But the war is over. And as Headmistress, I have been trying to reduce the divisions between the different houses in every way that I can. However, it is your responsibility, as students, to start having amicable interactions for this to work. I believe you, of all people, would understand my point."

At this, Pansy looked embarrassed, like she wanted to disappear into her chair. Harry understood what McGonagall was saying, but he still shuddered at the thought of sharing a room with Malfoy.

"Yes, I do understand, but..."

"It will be hard to make any other type of room rearrangement at this time of year, as the other students seem to be managing just fine. If you wanted to share a room, this is the option I have for you. You spoke to me before you came back to Hogwarts and said you didn’t wish for any special treatment. So if you may accept this, I would be very grateful. Do you have any complaints on the matter Ms. Parkinson?"

Pansy seemed wary, but anyways shook her head no.

Harry still hesitated. He racked his brain for some kind of excuse. "Alright, yes. I get it. And, no, I don’t want to be treated any different than the other eight years. But I still don't see Malfoy being ok with this. He doesn't like me very much, I'm sure you've noticed, Headmistress."

Pansy's wariness was forgotten. She eyed him and Harry could have sworn she was forcing down a laugh.

"But you wouldn't have a problem with this arrangement?" McGonagall then asked, and when he didn't answer straight away, the girl continued to stare at him in disbelief.

"I..." Harry eyed McGonagall's raised eyebrow, and then Parkinson's amused expression. But before answering, he considered. Would he mind? Wasn't he tired of fighting and distrusting Malfoy for so long? Wasn't he over their childish rivalry? Weren't they supposed to be grown ups now, for Merlin's sake? In the end, he sighed. "I don't think I would. Have a problem with it."

Pansy let go of a short skeptical laugh. She seemed both horrified and on the brink of laughing her lungs off. Harry felt exposed, as if admitting he didn't want to fight Malfoy anymore meant something way different. He almost scoffs. Harry was surely to end up sharing a bedroom with Luna, if that was even an option, because Malfoy wouldn't think twice before refusing this offer.

Right?

——

"I beg your pardon?" Draco heard his voice rise an octave.

The Headmistress remained stoic, as if she hadn't just said the utmost crazy set of words he had ever heard. And given that this year he slept besides Luna Lovegood's room, this accusation held much meaning.

"I asked if you would mind sharing a room with Harry Potter." The woman repeated.

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Yes, I heard that, I just don't understand the reason behind your question, Ms." He spoke, ignoring the hasty way in which his heart started to beat, and the near puberty-like crack in his voice.

She sighed, a single spark of exhaustion escaping her expression.

"Both Parkinson and Granger came to me to voice their concerns over your's and Potter's sleeping habits. So, we came to the conclusion that sharing a room would be beneficial for the both of you." She paused. Draco guessed that if it weren't McGonagall, she would have been smirking. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"

He tried his best not to be rude. His obvious first thought was to scream. This was outrageous! They must want to pair him with _oh saint Potter_ to make sure he kept an eye on Draco. Or maybe revenge? Some kind of wicked punishment?

Nevertheless, before he spoke, he remembered this was the Hogwarts Headmistress that welcomed him back into the castle despite his war crimes. If McGonagall wanted to punish him, she would have done it already, and instead she had given him a second chance.

Also, there was the Potter incident™, which now lived rent free in his mind. Potter had bad sleeping habits? As in, insomnia? It would explain him wandering the hallways at night looking like a scared ghost. However, it shouldn't be Draco's problem whatsoever. And sharing a room would in no way be helpful.

As he pondered on declining the invitation with caution, he noticed McGonagall's expression and stopped himself. Because whatever the woman's speech lacked in logic, it exceeded in some tired conviction. As if she had already explained this so many times that a simple rejection would make her snap. So, being the Slytherin he was, he finally settled on stating a fact.

"I'm sure, Headmistress, that Potter wouldn't agree to anything of the sort."

Then she did smirk. Some kind of wicked, very small twitch of lips.

"Oh, but I have already talked to Potter. He said he would not have a problem with such an arrangement. Provided that you felt the same way, of course."

Draco gaped.

"He said what?" he all but shrieked, politeness be damned.

She repeated herself as if Draco had gone deaf for the purpose of this conversation. After this, she continued.

"Well then, I should better leave you two to organize the details. If this change of rooms is to happen, please let me know tomorrow in class and I will tell the house elves to prepare the bed and all that is required."

When Draco didn't provide her with an answer, she nodded her head goodbye and walked out of the classroom, presence unwavering. He must have stood there, staring blankly forward, for at least five minutes. When his mind decided to react, nonetheless, it settled on anger.

Draco stormed all the way up into the tower, head racing with various kinds of angry thoughts. First of all, Pansy Parkinson was as good as dead. What kind of treason was this? Talking to the Headmistress about his insomnia and agreeing that sleeping with Potter, of all people, would sort that out?—Sleeping as in, in the bedroom, sharing a bedroom—he corrected his mind.

Secondly, his suspicions that Potter had trouble sleeping were then confirmed. It was rare, however, as the daylight Potter had not changed, not a single bit. He looked about as rumpled every morning as he had looked all his years in Hogwarts; with his hair sticking up in all directions, the bags under his eyes that those horrid glasses failed to cover, his forever-wrinkly set of robes, and his inability to strengthen his tie knot. If he were to change, or become even sloppier than usual, Draco would have been the first to notice. Not that he cared at all. It just annoyed him.

And last but not least, it seemed like Potter was anything short of eager to share a room with him. What kind of game was he playing at? Sure, they had agreed to some kind of ceasefire as of late, but that didn't mean they had to be sharing any more spaces than necessary. Even less be sleeping in the same room.

Maybe Potter was trying to be the better person, as he always was. Maybe this all was a trap, and he wanted Draco to be the one refusing McGonagall's request to make him look petty and ungrateful, while even though he didn't want them to share a room, Potter still hadn't refused, and therefore appeared the perfect boy.

Yes, that had to be it.

Once he reached the Saviour's room he straightened his robes, took a deep breath, and knocked.

Potter answered the door mere moments after. Draco noticed his emerald green eyes go wide in surprise; shocked expression followed by a wince.

"McGonagall talked to you?" he guessed, looking sorry. But Draco couldn't comment on this since Potter continued, fidgeting with the sleeve of his muggle sweater. "Don't worry, I know you'd rather get bit by a Vampire than share a room with me, but she had this whole plan mapped out, and I actually _did_ want someone to share a room with, so I just couldn't say no." He seemed to realize he was rambling and took a deep breath. "You just... refuse the offer and we'll get on with our lives."

At this, Draco felt all anger dissipate inside him and be replaced by something else. A flash of Potter's scared expression crossed his mind and an unreadable feeling unfolded in his stomach.

"Alright" he nodded, watching Potter's expression shift, "So you don't want to share a room with me, that's a relief. I thought you'd finally gone mad, Potter."

The faintest hint of a smile traced the boy's lips. A distinct rush of energy he hadn't dealt with for a long time travelled Draco's nape.

"Shut up, Malfoy. What's so wrong about wanting to share a room? I don't care if it's with you or fucking..." he waved a hand in the air, searching for a name "Zabini."

Draco felt a twitch of misguided jealousy.

"You'd share a room with Blaise? He snores, you know?"

Potter huffed a laugh. "And I'm sure you don't."

"Of course I don't _snore_ , Potter, who do you think I am?"

"Ok, alright." he gave in, yet still smiling "Go back to not snoring on your own then, Malfoy."

But when he aimed to close the door on Draco's face, or at least kick him out of his bedroom's door frame, Draco stopped him. Some kind of Gryffindor instinct he didn't know he possessed kicked in and he caught the door with his hand.

"I wouldn't mind, anyway." he heard himself say, beneath the beating of his heart in his ears. "Sharing a room, I mean. Whether it's with you or with Zabini again. Even though he does snore, and makes a mess of his clothes..."

Potter looked shocked, so Draco forced his babbling to a stop.

"You wouldn't?"

Draco tried to shake his head nonchalantly.

"Ok." Potter scratched the back of his head, "Then I guess we could..." he trailed off.

"Yes. I mean..." Draco swallowed. "It's no big deal, right? It's just for sleeping."

"Yeah, no big deal..."

——

It was a big deal.

Harry's hand combed his hair as he paced his room. Hermione, being busy organizing the next meeting for her S.P.E.W project, wasn't able to join them in Harry's freakout, so he had to cope with just Ron. Harry thought it quite a convenient excuse of her, anyways, as she was the one to put him in such a situation by talking to McGonagall in the first place.

A few moments had passed since he expressed the matter of concern and Ron was yet to stop gaping at him.

"With _Malfoy_!?" he shrieked, head snapping forward and hair falling over the freckles on his forehead.

Harry nodded, feeling lightheaded.

"Yeah, I... I don't know what I was thinking, I never thought he'd agree on such a thing."

Harry thought it had been a good idea to make Ron sit down, because when he eyed his friend in search for some kind of support, he only blinked.

"And you've already confirmed this? With McGonagall?" There was a glitch in Ron's mental calculations as Harry nodded. Then, he muttered "Mate, are you nuts?"

Harry rumpled his hair even more, pulling on it as if that alone could prove he wasn't going insane.

"I- I don't know anything anymore. Maybe I am? A bit?"

Ron chuckled bitterly, only then seeming to catch up with the idea that this was going to happen.

"You just have to go looking for trouble, don't you? Merlin's bollocks, Harry, I wanted a peaceful year! Now we're gonna have to be making sure you and _Draco Malfoy_ don't hex each other to death! In the middle of the night! In your own room! It's gonna be fun, I can tell already" he joked.

"I don't know," Harry stopped his pacing. "I think... I'm not really worried about that. We're not fighting much, not this year."

"Well, yeah, you better not be if you plan on sharing rooms. _He_ better not be looking for fights." Ron made a pause to consider something. "What did the Ferret even say to this? Did McGonagall make him accept or..."

Harry shook his head before he gave a second thought to the idea. Malfoy hadn't looked coerced into accepting this. When talking to Harry yesterday, he had looked more alive than anytime this whole year.

"No. I don't think so, at least. I think... I don't know what his thoughts were exactly, but I know I'm tired. And he looked tired too. Of fighting, I mean."

Ron assessed him, narrowing his eyes for a few seconds.

"Yeah, I get it mate, but one thing is not fighting and one very different thing is spending so much time together. Y'know the rooms can get personal."

"Yeah, well, that's kind of the issue. Because I know I'll be having nightmares and for sure be waking him up. I just..." Harry bit on his nails as he tried to come up with the words to express his worry. "I don't want Draco fucking Malfoy to see me all scared at night!"

Ron sputtered. "Bloody hell Harry, you're bordering insane! I don't... you shouldn't care what Malfoy thinks about you!"

"How do you mean?" Harry frowned.

"So what if you have nightmares?" Ron waved his hands over his head. "I bet he fucking pees his pants every night."

Harry couldn't help the chuckle. Ron continued.

"It's not about that, I'm just saying, it'll get bloody personal. I mean you can study in the library, but you'll see him every morning, and every night, and you'll have to figure out how to share a space and stuff. Let me warn you, Harry, it's gonna be _trippy_."

Harry nodded again. Although, learning to share a space with Draco Malfoy? He knew what Ron meant. He thought of seeing Malfoy getting changed; flashes of white skin and blond hair, and found himself not entirely despising the idea.

Wait, what?

He backtracked within his mind. Oh, for Merlin's sake, was he losing it for real?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that McGonagall is just a plot devise to this story. She deserves better, but honestly, it's fine, it's fanfiction. I need to stop being so hard on myself.
> 
> Chapter's name is because a silver tabby is McGonagall's animagus.
> 
> Also, I like to believe that Harry and Draco (especially Draco) don't put up much of a fight against the idea of sharing a room because subconciously they feel drawn to the other, or at least have some level of curiosity.
> 
> Ron is just freaking out lol. I love Ron he's my favorite character in hp, and I only hope I can do him justice.
> 
> Anyways! This chapter is less angsty than the last one and the boys actually talk to each other! So I hope you liked it :)


	3. Sleeping Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but to the point! I'm updating way faster than I thought I would, but I guess that's a good thing!
> 
> Chapter warnings: Nightmares, insomnia

That night, when Harry entered what had been Malfoy's room for the year so far, he sighed. His bed was already made and his bags rested atop it. Giving the area a quick look, he fetched his most decent pajamas, his toothbrush, and went into the bathroom.

Noticing the small but still private shower, he smiled. He never had any issues using Hogwarts' common shower rooms, but this was actual luxury compared to spending a year cleaning himself with spells.

And that's why they had chosen this room and not his own. The en-suite bathroom was just wonderful, even more so given the situation. It felt like he could have some privacy, away from Malfoy, if he needed so, without having to leave the room.

And the distribution of rooms had been arbitrary, so the exclusive bathroom couldn't be granted to Malfoy's blood status, money, or family name; much less nowadays, when the mark on his arm and his father's imprisonment had almost forced his whole reputation to shatter.

Getting out of the shower, he heard the bedroom's door open and stilled. Malfoy was here. No big deal. They were sharing a room, it was normal that he came in whenever he wanted.

Harry took longer than usual getting dressed, and stopped to stare at himself in the mirror for a couple of seconds. He wasn't nervous. Why would he be? He was just being cautious; as for some unknown reason, the last thing he wanted right now was to show any kind of vulnerability in front of Draco Malfoy.

Snapping back to reality, he threw a drying spell to his hair, for once attempting to comb it down with his fingers and still not getting any results. Finally, as he brushed his teeth, he prayed to any sort of omnipotent entities out there for a dreamless night.

When he got out of the bathroom Draco eyed him warily. He still wore his polished black robe, and was reclining over his mattress; long fingers clutching what seemed to be an advanced book on healing potions.

Harry swallowed, mouth dry.

"Hey" he tried.

"Hello" Draco Malfoy answered, marking the page on his book and leaving it on the bedside table as he stood up. "Do you always spend that much time in the bathroom, Potter? Or were you wanking? Next time you do please make sure you're on your own, will you?" He grimaced.

"Shut up, Malfoy, I wasn't wanking" he retorted, but still felt a small blush creep through his neck. Merlin, what was with him lately?

He let the other boy into the bathroom and approached his bed.

"Well fine," Malfoy spoke "but if you want this room thing to work, make sure to cut your bathroom time shorter."

"Oh, sod off," Harry got beneath the covers. "I bet you take ages arranging your hair like _that_ every morning."

Malfoy scoffed, but didn't respond, which Harry took as a win. The bathroom's door was closed and a few minutes later Harry heard the shower running.

He pondered a second on what to do. He didn't know if he wanted to read something, and share some more awkwardly intimate time with Malfoy, or just go to sleep. In the end, his tiredness won, and the sounds from the shower, that reminded him of rainy nights at the Burrow, lulled him to sleep.

———

Draco came out of the bathroom to an already sleeping Potter. The curtains on his bed weren't drawn down, which made Draco wonder if he had fallen asleep without aiming to, or just couldn't care less.

He remembered what McGonagall had said and huffed. Were these supposed to be Potter's unhealthy sleeping habits? What a massive joke.

Because he looked very much at ease; peaceful, even. Not a trace of insomnia in sight. His tanned skin glowed faintly with the bathroom light, and his lips were parted. Draco was amused but not surprised to learn that Potter drooled in his sleep. However, he could not help but admit that his gentle expression and lack of glasses caused him to look rather ethereal.

At that last thought he drew the line.

Mentally reprimanding his own gay self, he sat on his bed, drew his curtains down, and concentrated on his reading, other than continuing to muse about Potter's, of all people's, sleeping face.

As most nights, he didn't get much sleep.

It seemed like even the tiniest of noises, like the wind rattling the window, or the bathroom sink leaking, could keep his mind racing. Thoughts of the war, his dead friends, his father in Azkaban, and the boy sleeping on the next bed infiltrated his head, and turned the sheep into dementors, or the numbers into screams.

He envied Potter and his steady sleeping. Because with his curtains closed, Draco could almost pretend he was alone. Not only did Potter not snore, but also he made no other kind of sound. He seemed to sleep like one would inside a coffin, not moving or breathing whatsoever.

It was close to four in the morning when this silence was broken. Draco was beginning to drift off, to feel his mind edge into nothingness, when Potter's voice echoed through the room.

His first instinct feeling was anger. He almost sat up and shushed him. He refrained from such an action. Why was Potter talking in the first place? And what had he said?

Blinking, Draco assessed the situation, listening for any other signs of the boy being up.

"No... No, please..." he heard Potter mutter and frowned.

Was he dreaming? He heard some rustling and guessed he must have been moving beneath the covers. For a few seconds Draco considered ignoring him. Because if it were him, having a nightmare, he would have been mortified if Potter even dared acknowledge it. For once, he stayed silent, listening to the other boy's inhales quicken, in a state way too vulnerable for Draco to intervene.

However, when Potter spoke again, Draco's breath hitched.

"Wait, I'm sorry..." The Golden Boy said, closer to crying than he had any right to sound, and Draco drew his curtains up with a speechless spell.

Harry Potter's face was as pale as a corpse and his breathing was ragged, sweat pooling at his forehead. His head snapped from one side to the other as if wanting to shake something off, and his fingers clutched the bed sheets so tight, Draco thought they would snap.

All he could do was sit in bed and stare, not knowing any spells that would help in a situation such as this, and not knowing if his help would even be accepted.

Potter sobbed and Draco felt pure impotence.

But why did he care so much? Even if he looked troubled, and in pain, it was just Potter. After all, it shouldn't be Draco's problem to deal with. Because they weren't even friends.

That thought cut deep inside his gut. He felt like a kid again, despising Potter for rejecting his offer of friendship on their very first ride in the Hogwarts Express. Since then, they weren't friends and they never had been. Harry Potter had been his obsession, enemy, rival and even saviour, but never his friend.

Yet right now they were sharing a room. How, why? Only Merlin knew. And McGonagall perhaps too.

He continued to watch the sleeping one as he appeared to calm down. The worst part of the dream seemed to have passed, as Potter's brow was still furrowed, and his jaw set, but his body lay still.

Draco didn't sleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are wildly appreciated! :)


End file.
